


Seducing Under the Influence

by GoldenUsagi



Series: Giving In To Contradictions [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Succubi & Incubi, Asexuality, M/M, Magical Realism, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Succubi & Incubi, really minor dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenUsagi/pseuds/GoldenUsagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic following Giving In To Contradictions.  In which Sherlock has to deal with a bespelled John who just wants to sleep with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seducing Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> Entanglednow and I have decided that we will each try to write one fic a month where Sherlock is some sort of supernatural creature. Be sure to check out [her fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2541035) as well!
> 
> Beta'd by entanglednow and verdant_fire.

The problem of Irene Adler and her photographs turned out to be marginally more interesting than Sherlock first thought. The American agents who had turned up certainly pointed to the fact that the succubus was involved in more than just some scandalous photography. Still, the whole thing was done now, and he had what he came for.

Irene stood in front of the empty safe, a look of dismay on her face. She stretched out her hand. “That’s mine.”

Sherlock ignored her. “Whatever’s on here, it’s clearly not just photographs. Otherwise, why would they be interested?” He gestured to unconscious men.

“That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. It’s my protection.”

“It was.” Sherlock flipped the phone in the air and put it in his pocket.

Irene’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then she jutted out her chin and strode out of the room. She made a beeline for the stairs.

John came out of the bedroom just as Irene reached the landing. She moved toward him in one fluid motion, caught his head in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Then she broke the kiss and whispered something in his ear.

John immediately lost his footing and slid down the wall.

Sherlock was already moving. “John!” He reached the landing and pulled John up to look at him. John’s head lolled to the side and he had trouble focusing, like he was drunk. “John!”

Sherlock felt a hand in his pocket. He swung behind him with one arm, but Irene was too fast.

“I told you, this is my protection,” she said, backing away and grasping the phone tightly. “I’ll die before I let you have it.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock demanded.

“He’ll be fine. I just gave him a few suggestions.” She flashed him a sharp smile as she made her way into the bedroom. “You might even enjoy it.” 

Irene vanished from his line of sight; Sherlock heard a window open and knew she was gone.

He turned back to John. “John, can you hear me?”

After another moment, John seemed to come round. “Yeah.”

“Can you stand?”

“With a little help.”

Sherlock looped one of John’s arms over his shoulders and pulled John to stand, slowly making it down the stairs and out of the building. John half-stood, half-hung off him while Sherlock hailed a cab.

He felt nothing at all about leaving the scene before the police arrived. The police would have enough to deal with sorting out the foreign agents. Chances were, they wouldn’t be competent enough to even realise that Sherlock and John had been there. If they did, Sherlock could always make a statement later.

Getting John home was more important.

John sprawled all over him in the cab, despite Sherlock’s efforts to get him propped up against the other door. John didn’t remember anything Irene had said, no matter how Sherlock phrased his questions. But that was typical with victims of thralls or glamours.

Back at Baker Street, John said he needed assistance to get up the stairs. Once they were in the living room, Sherlock nudged the door closed with his shoulder. He was moving to steer John towards the sofa when John twisted around and kissed him, pushing him up against the door.

Sherlock had a split second to wonder what John was playing at before he realised: this wasn’t John, this was Irene.

And everything clicked into place.

Then Sherlock felt the familiar buzz that came from sexual contact, pulling him from his mind back to the physical present. He broke the kiss and tilted his head, holding himself out of John’s reach.

“You know we can’t.”

“Just the once wouldn’t hurt,” John said, giving him a lazy smile.

Sherlock changed his approach. “You know I don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He pressed his body as close to Sherlock’s as he could.

“A tired argument, and one I’ve heard before.” Sherlock extricated himself with some effort. “ _Think_ , John. This is Irene’s influence.”

“I don’t see what she has to do with it,” John said, trailing after him. He caught Sherlock from behind, wrapping his arms around him and running his hands over Sherlock’s stomach. “Unless you’d like her to join us?”

“You’re going to feel ridiculous in the morning,” Sherlock said.

John laughed. “Why? Because I want you?” John was hard, and he pressed himself against Sherlock’s hip. 

Sherlock felt the tingle of energy wash over him again. When John started sucking on his neck and it intensified, Sherlock growled in exasperation and turned around.

He took John’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes. “John, I need you to do something for me,” he said, focusing all of his will on John. “I need you to go to sleep.”

It was no good trying to directly undo the command of another. The best one could hope to do was to override a command with a different one. Even then, it was a battle of wills. The strength of Sherlock’s own influence was nothing to scoff at, but he suspected Irene was gifted with a will of iron.

Still, he was cautiously optimistic when John said, “All right,” and went in the direction of their bedroom.

Sherlock followed a few moments later. But instead of finding John asleep, he found John sitting on the bed in his boxers and a T-shirt, looking expectant.

He smiled and stood up when Sherlock entered.

“I’m ready to sleep,” John said, approaching him in what he probably assumed was a seductive way. “Sleep with you.”

Sherlock gave a miniscule shake of his head. “John…”

John easily slid up to him, stopping inches away. For a moment, it was no different than the physical closeness they regularly shared. John’s hands rested on his waist and he seemed content to simply stand in Sherlock’s space.

But then John rubbed his groin against Sherlock’s as his hand moved down to grip Sherlock’s hip, and Sherlock again felt the pleasant hum that came from drawing energy from a person. John’s breath quickened, and he moved against Sherlock further.

“Damn it, John!” Sherlock snapped. He grabbed John and spun him, pushing him up against the wall and holding him at arm’s length, in a way that couldn’t be particularly comfortable. But he still felt the life energy flowing from John to him. John was even turned on by this.

Sherlock could put up with John enthusiastically hitting on him all night, but not if the result of that was him feeding from John.

Only one thing to be done, then.

Changing tactics, Sherlock loosened his grip, and then leaned in and placed a calculated kiss on John’s lips. “Fine. We’ll sleep together. Just once.”

“I was waiting for you to see sense,” John said, smiling good-naturedly.

“Would you prefer to fuck me, or shall I fuck you?”

John licked his lips. “I want to fuck you.”

“Very well.” Sherlock kissed him again. “Just let me get us something to drink first.”

\-----

John woke up with a headache.

He slowly opened his eyes and saw their bedroom. Nothing out of place about that; he struggled to figure out why he still felt so disoriented.

Sherlock was stretched out on the bed next to him, fully dressed and idly looking at something on his phone. Sherlock went to bed with him quite regularly, but he usually only stayed a few hours. John could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually woken up with Sherlock. That, more than anything, made John suspect that something was off. 

“What do you remember?”

Well, that confirmed it, then. 

John thought back. There had been Buckingham Palace and then the ride to the house of Irene Adler, the dominatrix succubus. Sherlock had made up a story about consulting with her professionally, but she’d seen right through that. Irene had called him out and then flirted with him shamelessly, trying to get a rise of any sort out of him.

After that, things got hazy, and then there was a startling blank. “We were at Irene’s,” John said slowly. “We’d just taken care of the Americans.”

“That was sixteen hours ago.”

“Christ.” John rubbed a hand over his face, sitting up. “What happened?”

“She was more resourceful than I anticipated. Needless to say, we did not obtain the photographs.” Sherlock put his phone down, shifting all of his focus to John. “She used her influence on you, thoroughly enchanted you.”

John struggled to remember any of that. “Did… did I have sex with her?”

“No. As I said, she was more resourceful than that. She sent you after me.”

Oh. _Oh_.

His face must have shifted into a look of horror, because Sherlock continued with: “You hardly tried to force yourself on me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though the situation wasn’t without complications, which was undoubtedly Irene’s intent.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had obviously figured out my predilections. She meant to be shocking with her nudity, though she should have known better than that. But when her attentions failed to distract or entertain me, she employed you. Besides the bother of dealing with you in an addled state, every time I touched you, I was inadvertently feeding from you.”

 _There_ was something John hadn’t considered. Then he frowned. “Even though you weren’t into it?”

“My arousal has nothing do with it. It’s the simple state of my being; incubi feed off the sexual energy of others, full stop. If we could turn it on and off, our partners would never suffer any consequences.” Sherlock paused. “Obviously you wouldn’t have experienced any ill effects from this incident alone. But it seemed safer to limit your exposure in case of future incidents beyond our control.”

“Right,” John said slowly. He got the feeling Sherlock was leading up to something. “So…?”

“You wouldn’t go to sleep, so I gave you some flunitrazepam,” Sherlock said, matter-of-fact.

“Sorry, what?”

“It was the best sedative I had on hand. I did monitor you throughout,” he said, gesturing to their situation in general. “It was either that or tie you up, John. But you’re clever when you’re cornered, and I didn’t want to risk your hurting yourself. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t know if Irene compelled you to do anything else. Chemically induced unconsciousness seemed the safest option until her influence wore off.”

John digested all of that.

“So basically,” he said slowly, “you gave me a date rape drug so I _wouldn’t_ try to have sex with you.”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then John laughed. He laughed again.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “No objections?”

“I’d rather not be drugged, but…” John trailed off. “I’ve worked A&E. I know what happens.” He shrugged.

When people came in out of their minds, they had to be restrained in one way or the other. If the cause could be definitively pinpointed as the influence of another being and not a chemical cocktail, inducing unconsciousness wasn’t uncommon.

John cleared his throat. “Look, er, sorry if anything I did made you… uncomfortable.”

“Not necessary,” Sherlock said, standing up. “As I said, it was more of a bother than anything.”

“What did I do?”

“You hung all over me and repeatedly suggested we sleep together. Really, John, it was extremely unattractive.” Sherlock’s lips quirked up. “Now, get dressed. Mycroft will undoubtedly be dropping by during breakfast, and he’ll be worse than usual.”

“What happened to Irene?”

“She got away.”

John stood. “You don’t seem to care very much.”

“Her reasons for having the photos were disappointingly dull, in the end. Not worth my time.” Sherlock absently looked at something on his mobile. “Though obviously she thinks I’m worth hers, as she’s been incessantly texting me.”

“Texting you?”

“Mm, yes. Flirting.”

John snickered. “Should I be jealous?”

“Definitely,” Sherlock said, giving him a wry smile. “I fully intend to continue the correspondence. She still has my coat.”


End file.
